


Birds to Wind and Sky

by whatkindofnameisella



Series: Widojest Week 2020 [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Kinda, Missing Moments, Pining, Widojest Week 2020, ep 97, i will never not somehow manage to put flowers in my widojest fic and that is a promise, squeezed this out just in time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:27:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25139212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatkindofnameisella/pseuds/whatkindofnameisella
Summary: She’s lovely.It’s the first thought that enters his mind when he sees her, and it won’t leave his head.(set during ep 97)
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast
Series: Widojest Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825060
Comments: 13
Kudos: 65
Collections: Widojest Week 2020





	Birds to Wind and Sky

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't originally planning to do anything for day 2, but then I started thinking about stuff and got an idea and procrastinated writing it until the last minute, SO. here is a little something I squeezed out very quickly and might go back and edit more later! 
> 
> widojest week 2020 day 2: dressed up.

She’s lovely.

It’s the first thought that enters his mind when he sees her, and it won’t leave his head. She is lovely – pink chiffon pooling where she’s grabbed onto and lifted up her skirt, delicate, expensive earrings hanging from her ears, cheeks stretched in a grin as she laughs in the front room of the Chateau, hearty and unrefined and beautiful. Beautiful.

He should not be looking at her like this, should not relish in the way her eyebrows rise as she leans in to Beau and tells a joke, his heart should not clamp up in his chest when she turns to look at him, freckled cheeks spread wide and unaware – he should not be in love with her, for that matter, he should not be – but he is like a moth to flame, like birds are to wind and sky, and those are rather helpless endeavors, aren’t they? Out of their control. Out of his control from the moment she leaned over and told him to take a bath.

Helpless things – like looking at her and being stuck on everything lovely.

He would talk to her, but he is hopelessly out of depth – neat robes lined with red being fiddled with in his hands, hair combed back from his face, too clean and orderly and presentable for comfort. Too reminiscent of too many galas for new clothes to be a solace. But _she_ – she crosses the floor like she’s in her own skin again, like she was born for extravagance and small talk over champagne, for the way she subtly touches Fjord’s arm after cackling. That’s good. It’s something he can’t give her. 

(but he _wants to_ , even if he should not – he wants to indulge every wish she has, every outrageous scheme, every petty complaint and every humble, selfish ask. and if it meant he had to stand on hot coals or shave his head or have his heart broken a million times over he would not mind, heartache is not a new sensation to him, and he would take a lifetime of it if it meant she kept smiling, and, a selfish part of him knows, if it would keep him loved, and – )

(he should not, _he should not_ – )

“Caleb?” She’s standing in front of him, pink chiffon and expensive earrings and violet eyes hiding a smile. “What do you think?”

He blinks a couple times, trying and failing to catch up to the present moment and desperately wishing he could take this robe off. The room has gotten suddenly and unbearably hot. 

“What?”

She bites her lip and fights a giggle that shakes her shoulders. “What do you think of my dress?” She turns from side to side, looking down to watch her skirt fan out and twist around. “Does it look nice?”

He clears his throat and desperately tries to collect his scattered thoughts. “Do you – well, _ja_ , of course, you look – “ 

“I feel like it’s missing something.” She twists her lips to one side, places her hands on her hips and looks around the room before settling on a flower vase at a dinner table beside them and smiling. She reaches over to it – a delicate porcelain thing overflowing with roses and peonies and impatiens – and plucks out a pink rose. 

“You know,” she says, wincing as she pulls off most of the stem, and then chin to chest as she removes a brooch from her neckline and uses it to pin the rose to the top of her bodice, “Mama always said that a flower was more beautiful than any jewelry on someone.”

“Oh, really?” He feels absolutely pointless, standing next to her. “Well – “

She looks up to him again, and his heart breaks. The first of a million times. 

She grins, blissfully unaware. The type that makes him want to grin too. “So? Better?”

He takes a deep breath, tries to take her in all at once, but that is like – drowning, like hearing her laugh in Alfield after she’d told them how she’d left her home and he’d joked with her, capricious and unruly and the most damning thing. Hopeless endeavors. Hopeless for him to look at her grinning with a rose on her dress and have any idea what to say.

He stares for a moment. She raises her eyebrows.

“ _Ja_.” He manages finally, face what feels like hot enough to be on fire. “You’re, ah – “

(moth to flame, birds to wind and sky)

“Lovely. You look lovely.”

She looks nearly – shocked for a moment, eyes blinking and chest rising with a breath before – her smile softens and deepens, gaze to somewhere in her hands and to him and to her hands again. “Thanks, Caleb,” and it is a small, sweet thing, quiet enough for only him to hear.

“Are we ready to go?” 

He looks up and Jester whips her head around to see the Ruby standing at the top of the stairs, purple velvet and intricate jewelry, the very image of desire. Jester gasps in front of him. “Mama! You’re so pretty, oh my gosh – “

And she’s off to her mother, hugs and compliments and linked arms as they walk down the stairs, laughing at something she’s said as they start to cross the floor and the rest of the Nein follow. He stares for a moment, helpless and hopeless and wishing that he wasn’t such an idiot, that he could do something other than stand uselessly by and worry his robes into threads with his hands, but – 

“Caleb!” She’s glancing over her shoulder at him, falling behind arm in arm with her mother as the rest of the Nein tromp on. “Common!”

She smiles. The most damning thing.

“Ja, sure, sorry –“ He picks up his feet, scampers to catch up with everyone else, steps out through the front door of the Chateau and into the cool night air and tries to muster up the air of someone important. Someone who doesn’t get tripped up by easy laughter and smiles from a woman he should not be in love with. He fails.

They trek towards the ballroom of the Marquis, and he watches pink chiffon pool around her feet as she walks in front of him. She turns to look at him once, to crack a joke, rose blossoming from her bodice, and she’s – 

Lovely. The very image of summertime and smiles and bare feet in the grass. And if he shouldn’t love her then at least his heart is hers to break, and he’ll bear it over and over again.


End file.
